A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)

By: Katie Mars

1

“Baby, don’t you think we should go somewhere?”

Dylan Bennett had a way with women, and tonight was just another night in paradise. He was sitting on a stool in a crowded bar on Sunset, cradling a beer in one hand and a girl in the other, as was his custom.

A wicked smiled curled at the corners of his lips, like a serpent coiling in wait. He turned to the girl who had plastered herself to his side, running a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair as if he was giving the question some serious thought. “Maybe.”

The girl smiled back, her plush lips parting in an obvious attempt at seduction. “Don’t play,” she said, with a teasing pout.

Dylan was used to girls like this—girls who pretended they wanted something more than his name and his fame, but who really only wanted one thing from him. The pretense was fun once in a while, but tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Despite that, high from the thrill of a low-key gig and buzzed on the vodka shots he’d been consuming, Dylan was ready and willing to succumb to a few hours of simple bliss.

Girls smelled nice, music was awesome, and life was good. What more could he want?

“I still can’t believe you’re the Dylan from Dust and Bones,” she breathed.

Dylan’s piercing blue eyes roved over her body, inspecting her unashamedly. Her breasts were perfectly round and pert, barely hidden by her low-cut tank top. She had a magenta dye job and a glistening silver nose ring. She was probably a freak in bed too. A carnal pleasure. Yet, for some unknown reason, Dylan didn’t feel as satisfied by the promise of an easy lay as he normally did.

“Tell you what,” Dylan said, relaxing and wrapping an arm around her shoulders to reel her in closer to his side. “You and I, let’s have a good time right here. We’ll see how things go.” He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and if no other exciting prospects presented themselves by the end of the night, he’d at least be able to fall into bed with her.

“How about I guess your favorite drink?” he asked, settling his other hand on her thigh, keeping her close enough that the heat of their bodies mingled in the same space. She blinked at him, seemingly dazed by his proximity, and Dylan resisted the urge to sigh. This one definitely wouldn’t be a challenge. He’d guess something simple, like Jack and Coke, and impress her to the point where she begged him to leave the bar with her again. Even if he was wrong, he could just make up some bullshit about it being raw and sweet, like her—either way, he’d be able to take her home.

All roads led to the same horizontal position. Same old, same old.

He left her at the small table near the stage before she could pull herself together to protest. After he reached the bar and ordered their drinks—premium vodka for himself—he gave the crowd a quick once-over and...

Fuck.

An unfamiliar face caught his attention from the room’s periphery. Its owner was stretching across the bar, reaching for a jar of cherries. Her long red hair tumbled over her shoulders in a messy yet elegant fashion. She pinched the stem of one of the bright, red fruits between her fingers and brought it to her mouth. Her eyes rolled back and her shoulders relaxed with a subtle sigh, perhaps in response to the sweetness touching her tongue.

Dylan catalogued her automatically: the flare of her waist, the curvature of her ass, the arch of her spine as she leaned across the bar to pop another lucky cherry into her mouth. He found himself stunned by how badly, how suddenly he wanted her. Lust bore down on him like a speeding train.

He didn’t think—didn’t have to think. He just moved until he was right beside her, unapologetically invading her personal space.

She noticed him at once—had to, of course—and furrowed her brow like she wasn’t sure why he was standing so close to her. Like his presence wasn’t welcome.

It wasn’t an expression Dylan was familiar with.

“Did you need something?” she asked, her voice piercing and melodic all at once.

Dylan felt another pulse of want in his stomach. “That was going to be my line,” he said, the words sliding out of his mouth instinctually like the opening measure of a sultry ballad. He drew in closer and leaned over her, ducking down to bring his mouth to the shell of her ear. “You look like a woman who knows exactly what she needs, and trust me—you’re looking right at him.”